


Why People Do This

by noobcake



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: masskink, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2867957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noobcake/pseuds/noobcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorta AU where Garrus is experienced and Shepard is a virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why People Do This

“Look,” he says, “You used to say you didn’t want this kind of complication in your life. You can back out, you know. We’re solid, no matter what.”  
  
The human in his lap pulls back to look him in the eyes. “If you think I’m going to chicken out now, you are sorely mistaken. Uh, but if my...condition...makes you uneasy, I understand.”  
  
“Condition? Oh. The first time thing.” She flinches when he says that, embarrassed. “Look. Shepard. I don’t have the hangups you humans have about all that. All it means to me is that I have a responsibility to show you an extra good time, your first time.”  
  
Her brow furrows. “A responsibility? Sounds like a pain in the ass.”  
  
“Okay, let me rephrase that. I want to blow your mind. Trust me, it’ll be pleasant for both of us.”  
  
 _There’s_ her mischievous smile again.   
  
“Nice save,” she chuckles, wrapping her arms back around him. She presses her face against his mantle. Her breath is warm, next to his pulse. Her eyelashes tickle as she blinks, so he pulls her tight against him and strokes her cheek, her hair, the nape of her neck.   
  
Shepard is hesitant, but she’s no frightened, innocent creature. Garrus knows it better than anyone alive. What she’s fighting isn’t fear, but the instinct to treat this as a mission. An ordeal to plow through with a list of objectives and a detailed report to file at the end. That, with few exceptions, has been her life. She’s not a cold person. She’s had close friends, crushes here and there, a few awkward dates. She confided all this to him and Tali one day as they lurched around a low-g planet in the Mako. Mostly, she said, she did her job and let everyone think she was a loner. It kept things simple.   
  
Back in the here and now, Garrus tilts her chin just so with finger and thumb. Gives her a tiny nip just at the jawline, his mouth barely touching her skin. Another just beneath her earlobe. She stiffens--a moment of trouble letting go--and then relaxes, leaning in for more. He thumbs aside her shirt collar, nibbling a light trail down to rasp his tongue across her collarbone.   
  
She likes that. Her hands are on him now, pulling him closer, brushing at his fringe with one hand while pushing the other inside the sleeve of his shirt to explore the flexible spikes along his arm. It’s the most skin-to-skin contact they’ve ever shared. She pulls his head back and kisses hard him on the mouth, then pulls back, grinning and blushing. It might have been her first kiss. He isn’t sure, and he isn’t going to ask. He reciprocates in his own way, brushing his mouth against hers.  
  
“I get it now. I get why people do this,” she murmurs, still running fingertips up and down his fringe. “There’s the closeness, and then...it’s like a drug, but better.”  
  
His mandibles flare wide. He nods, sliding his hands to her waist. “It is a drug, sort of. Endorphins, for humans, I think? Similar for turians. I have to say, right now I’m about as high as that volus--you know--the ‘biotic god.’”  
  
Shepard barks out a laugh and twists around, straddling his lap. “That guy cracked me up, but I thought he might go apeshit on us if I didn’t keep a straight face. ...Ugh. Sorry, I’m killing the mood. I’ll shut up now.” She winks and begins to press soft kisses against his mandibles and neck. Now it’s his turn to shudder.  
  
“There’s no script, Shepard,” he says. “Takes a lot more than that to kill my mood, especially if you keep _that_ up.” She nips at him with her blunt teeth, imitating his ministrations from moments ago. She’s always been a quick study.   
  
They lose themselves for a few minutes, nipping and touching. When Garrus wills himself back from delirium, he’s got one hand squeezing Shepard’s thigh and another cupping her breast. She sits up, undoes the closures on her top, then takes his hand and puts it inside. There is heat against his palm. No bra, no undershirt. Her nipples are hardened buds. All it takes is a soft pinch to make her breath catch and her hips jerk.   
  
“ _Whoa_. Keep doing that,” she whispers, shrugging out of her shirt to give him better access.

“That’s okay, huh?” He doesn’t need to ask, of course, but he wants to hear her say it.

“Hell yes, that’s ‘okay’. Don’t you dare stop. What--ohhh...” She closes her eyes and groans as he works on both nipples at once now. He keeps it gentle at first, sussing out her preferences, and once he’s done that--once he’s got her grinding against him, shoving her breasts into his hands--he applies his tongue.

Suckling is primal, for humans. Every single time he’s done it (or his approximation thereof, given his mouth structure), it’s gotten a powerful response. He’s never seen surprise, though. Not until now. Shepard arches and stiffens as if she’s been hit by an arc projector. He keeps his eyes on her as he laves at one peak, then the other.

“Holy FUCK,” she gasps. “I could probably come just from that.” She could, the way she’s dry humping him. Maybe he could, too.

“If you want to, go for it. I’d have no complaints,” he offers. Not exactly how he thought this would go, but there are worse things in life than having a woman squirm her way to orgasm one’s lap.

“Nah, c’mon. That’d be a cop out, and you know it.” She stands and beckons him. “If I’m gonna get bedded, I want it to be on my actual bed.”

“You’re greedy and demanding,” he observes, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

She gives him one of her bravado grins as she pulls him to his feet and over to the bed. “Yup. You didn’t think I’d get all shy, did you?”

“When have you ever?” He touches his forehead to hers.

Emotion flickers across her face, and she closes her eyes against it. Holding her lightly to him and stroking her smooth back, he waits for it to surface.

“I’m not...I’ve never been good at...I feel really naked, and I’m still half dressed,” she says. “The only time I’m naked in front of anyone is when I’m injured. Or dead.”

“I know.” He does know. He’s seen this a zillion times and been through it himself. And it’s not clothing that’s at issue here. He’s seen military types, men, women, and other, strut nude through locker rooms, bellowing good-naturedly at comrades and snapping towels. He’s seen a lot of those same people hide themselves away from meaningful contact. Some won’t let anyone, not even medics, touch them. Some compensate with lots of casual sex, avoiding “involvement.” He’s long over the worst of that himself, but he’s still the guy who wears heavy armor more often than cloth. The guy who, as far as the Normandy’s crew knows, never takes off his gloves.

“I’ll deal. I’m just having a moment here.”

“I know. Take the time you need, Shepard.”

She’s still and quiet for a few more seconds, then gives a little nod and kisses him on the nose.

“Okay?”

She smiles at him. “Yeah. I’m good.” She kicks his legs out from under him, and he topples, laughing, onto the bed. He drags her down with him; he wasn’t lying when he said he had reach.

After that, it’s easier. They’ve gotten comfortable on the bed. She’s lying with her back against him, one leg flung back over his, and he’s tracing around her clit with the pad of one finger. The great thing about Shepard is that she’s a Commander, and she doesn’t stop commanding in bed. She tells him exactly what feels good--no hanging back, no “maybe you could” or “if you want” hedging. And the great thing about being in bed with Shepard is that in this context, he’s entitled to make her beg a little before he gives her what she demands, which in this case is “more” and “right there, like that.” He can tell she’s getting close to the edge.

Without warning, she shifts against him, reaching back to slide warm fingers around the erection he’s been studiously ignoring.

“I know I’m a newbie,” she murmurs, “but doesn’t this come into play at some point?” She gives him a little squeeze, and he can’t help but push himself into her hand a couple of times before he answers.

 

“Second guessing me now, huh?” he breathes against her neck, making her shiver. “My plan is to get you off at least once before the main event, so if it hurts, this won’t be a total loss.”

“Oh. Carry on, then. Want me to let go?” She gives him another squeeze.

He chuckles, flicking his mandibles outward. “ _No_ , I don’t want you to let go, but I’d like to be able to concentrate on you. You can play with it all you want later, okay?”

A pleased look spreads across her face. “I’ll hold you to that, then.”

Shepard’s fingers release him, and after a few seconds, he can think clearly again. His own fingers go back to work between her legs. This time he doesn’t tease. He takes his cues from her moans and the beat of her hips. In short order, he has her whimpering and eeling in climax, toes curled, head thrown back. He strums her through it, feeling her muscles contract and go limp, letting her rest against him.

When she recovers enough to speak, she tells him, “That’s it. You’re never leaving this room again.”

Just a few years ago, he might have heard that as a challenge to his independence, and it would have scared the living shit out of him. From Shepard, it’s simply a compliment. She’s lying back with her eyes still closed, not watching him with needy eyes to gauge the possibility of a second date. She isn’t playing the game, because she doesn’t know the game. Would scoff at it even if she did know.

“Fine, Shepard, but who’s going to watch your six on missions while I’m stuck here?”

“Hmm.” Rolling over to face him, she wraps herself around him for warmth. The thin sheen of sweat she worked up earlier is chilling her. “Maybe Thane.”

“Oh, come _on_. Sure, he’s crazy competent, but he’ll never run into your line of fire and then yell at you for shooting him in the butt, like I do. You’d miss that. No point in denying it.”

“Uh huh. You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

 

He’s got a witty retort ready to go, but she shuts him up by rolling him over and straddling him, settling her clit against his tip. She’s already slick and warm from before, and when she leans down to kiss him, she glides against him. It brings him instantly, stingingly to attention. He welcomes the newfound aggression in her kisses and her movements, raising his head and shoulders to nip at her, winding his fingers into the finer hair at the nape of her neck.

“Garrus,” she pants.

“Mmm?”

“Let’s do this.”

He retrieves the condom he’d stashed on the night stand and puts it on as she watches, impatient and fascinated. Protection against “ingestion” until they can get updated allergy tests.

“What position?” she asks.

“You’ll have more control if you’re on top. If you need to stop, stop. There could be some pain.”

“What other women call pain, I probably classify as ‘mild discomfort.’”

Shepard gamely climbs back aboard and positions him at her opening. As she sinks down upon him, he leans up to lick at a nipple. Her breath catches once or twice, but she doesn’t stop until he’s fully inside of her. She spreads her legs further and grips his shoulders, then begins to rock her hips, instinctively writhing against him for pleasure. She’s so tight, and there’s so much heat. To stop himself from bucking into her hard, he rolls her nipples between his fingers while nipping and biting at her shoulders and neck. He can tell when he’s got it right, because her insides flutter and her speed increases.

She’s straining for an orgasm--her limbs are shaking and her face is taut with concentration--and Garrus is carefully matching his thrusts to hers, when her whole body seizes, then throbs with release. It’s not as intense as the first round, but that’s to be expected.

“Your turn,” she gasps, eyes now open but unfocused, as he helps her wring out the last aftershocks of her peak. “Do it.”

Grabbing her hips, he thrusts deep, hurling himself toward his own climax. Without intending to, he snarls and digs blunted talons into her flesh. She responds, clinging to him and wedging her feet against his spurs for traction. The fibers of self-control are snapping even as he tries to keep her comfortable. She must sense that, because she brings her lips to the side of his head and growls at him in half sentences:

“Let it go--already healed up--feels good--let it _go_ \--”

And Garrus does, because he trusts her. She wouldn’t lie to please him. His body snaps rigid in a final thrust. He pulses and spills into Shepard, not shouting into the air but whispering in her ear, feeling her cheek curve into a smile, and he finally gets it. He gets why people do this.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here as a masskink fill: http://masskink.livejournal.com/769.html?thread=1961473#t1961473.


End file.
